


Dying To See You

by Ytteb



Series: Milsom Bay [10]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7359538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is in trouble and gets some 'visitors'.<br/>Please note that although the title has the word 'dying' in it, I haven't marked the story as tragedy.  In fact, I'm not sure how to tag it at the moment.<br/>I will update the character list as new people appear.<br/>A Milsom Bay story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_In this universe Tony is now working as CAFALO (Community and Federal Agency Liaison Officer) with Raleigh PD in North Carolina.  I don’t think it matters if you haven’t read any of the other Milsom Bay stories – I’ll explain things as we go along._

* * *

Tony DiNozzo had felt drawn to the Pink House the first time he had seen it.  He had just never imagined that it would be the place that he died.

The Pink House had been built in the 1930s by wealthy eccentric Denver Caldwell who had used it to entertain movie stars of the day.  It was this movie connection rather than the bizarre combination of gothic exterior and Art Deco interior that had piqued Tony’s interest when he discovered it a few miles down the North Carolina coast from his bolt hole in Milsom Bay. 

The house had been abandoned for several years by the time Tony came across it although there were periodic flurries of excitement when it seemed that someone might be going to buy it.  So far those flurries had proved unfounded meaning that Tony was often able to visit and indulge his fantasies of Errol Flynn and David Niven swimming off the pier or of Merle Oberon and Vivien Leigh reclining on the veranda.

Tony gasped with pain as he moved slightly.  He wasn’t indulging fantasies that day.  Tony had often explored the Pink House, marvelling at the proportions of the rooms and the craftsmanship that had gone into its construction.  Today was the first day he had visited the cellar and he thought it would be the last.  It was unusual for a house so near the sea to have a cellar but Caldwell had spent a fortune having one built and made waterproof.  The basement might even be one of the reasons the house had stood firm against the hurricanes and tornados that sometimes swept on to the coast.

Tony gazed up at the ceiling and supposed he should be grateful that Caldwell has spent his money well and that the basement was relatively dry.  At least he wasn’t lying in a pool of water or waiting for the wall to give way so that he would be swept out to sea.  Tony sighed as he considered that being washed out to sea and to oblivion didn’t feel such a bad option at the moment.

“You’re a mess!” came a familiar voice.

“Kate?” said Tony in surprise.  He squinted down the length of his body and saw Kate standing by his feet.  Regrettably she wasn’t wearing her Catholic school girl uniform but he’d take what he could get.

“I thought it was your leg that was bust,” said Kate, “not your eyes.”

Tony wondered whether it was tactful to point out that his visitor was dead and that he was entitled to a degree of surprise but he remembered the pointiness of Kate’s elbows and decided not to enrage her by arguing.

“I think I banged my head as well,” he offered, hoping to engage her sympathies.  “But I can remember who I am, so I guess you might not be interested.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed as she remembered the long ago case with the Jane Doe she had befriended.  “You really think it’s a good idea to remind me of that, DiNozzo?” she snapped.

“Sorry, Kate,” said Tony.  “It’s good to see you.  What are you doing here?”

“I keep an eye on you,” said Kate.

“You do?” said Tony, “that’s kinda touching.”

“Think of it as payback, DiNozzo,” said Kate.

“Payback?”

“All those months of you invading my privacy.  Going through my PDA, rummaging in my waste basket … answering my phone.  I’ve spent _years_ watching you.”

“Watching me?” asked Tony uneasily.

“Watching you,” said Kate with relish, “what you do when you think nobody’s watching.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” said Tony.

“You carry on thinking that,” said Kate.  “But how else would I know what your favourite movie _really_ is?  What you do in your bath?  What you do when you haven’t got a Kleenex to hand?  You’re disgusting, Tony.”

“Why watch then?” said Tony trying to fight back.  “There must be other people you could spy on.”

“I’ve got eternity,” said Kate bleakly, “lots of time to waste.”

“Do you watch Gibbs?” asked Tony with sudden interest.  “Or McGoo?  Go on, tell me what they do when they’re on their own.”

“I’ve signed a confidentiality agreement,” said Kate primly.

“They have confidentiality agreements in he … wherever you are?” said Tony.

Kate shrugged.  “You’re more interesting,” said Kate.  “I mean, there’s only so much time a girl can spend watching Gibbs sand a piece of wood.  Or watch Tim slay dragons.”

“True,” acknowledge Tony, “I have got panache.  Which they clearly have not.”

“Although,” said Kate, “watching you read all those psychology books is a bit dry.  And all those times you sneaked back into work when everyone else had gone … yawn!  You need to get a life, DiNozzo!”

“Bit late to tell me that,” said Tony, wincing as he shifted position.

“Sorry,” said Kate.  “But, you know, for someone who apparently had the busiest social life in DC … well, you were at home a lot.”

“But it was a nice place,” said Tony. 

“Yes, it was,” agreed Kate.  “Made me wish I’d visited it before … before … I couldn’t.”

“I missed you, Kate,” said Tony wistfully, “we made a good team, didn’t we?”

“Us against Gibbs,” said Kate reminiscently.

“And Probie,” said Tony managing a smile.

“It was fun,” said Kate.

“Apart from the murders.”

“And the shootings.”

“And the long nights.”

“And long days.”

“And Gibbs’ gloom.”

“And plague,” said Kate.

“And snipers on roof tops,” said Tony.

They fell silent for a moment or two.

“Your new house is nice,” said Kate.

“You’ve seen that too?” asked Tony.  “I mean, you can travel?”

“I’m here, genius,” said Kate acerbically.

“Sorry,” said Tony, “I’m not feeling too good here.”

“It’s what happens when you let criminals throw you downstairs,” said Kate.

“Didn’t have much choice,” said Tony.  “At least it’s not a gutter.”

“What?”

“Senior told me I’d end up in the gutter.  I’ve avoided that.”

“Good to keep a positive outlook,” said Kate.

“You been reading self-help books?” asked Tony.

“I might have listened in on one of Tim’s CDs,” admitted Kate.

“You know,” said Tony, “I’d have thought that the afterlife would improve someone’s morals.  Yours seem to have gone downhill.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kate.

“Well, you’re in heaven, aren’t you?”  Kate canted her head questioningly.  “I can’t see St Peter turning you away,” said Tony, “he wouldn’t have the ba …”  He trailed off as he wondered if saints retained the anatomical part he was thinking of.  Kate remained stonily silent so Tony tried again.  “I mean, if you didn’t make it to heaven, there’s not much chance of me getting there.”

Kate finally smiled, “glad to see you appreciate me, DiNozzo.”  She turned her back on him so he could see the iridescent feathers on her back.

“Nice,” said Tony appreciatively.  “Do they come in other colours?”

“What makes you think you’ll be getting any?” asked Kate.

“I guess you’re right.”

“You’ve done all right,” relented Kate.  “There’ll be people to put a good word in for you.”

“Is that how it works?” asked Tony.

Kate shrugged.  “You’ll find out.”

“Lots of people,” mumbled Tony, “everyone goes in the end.  You all leave me.”

Kate stepped nearer in concern.

“Got you!” crowed Tony.

“You’re a pig,” said Kate, “should have known nothing changes.”

“Kate,” said Tony in a more serious tone, “do you think we would have … well, you know …”

“No, I don’t know,” said Kate, “what?”

“You and me?  Would we ever have got together?”

“And not killed each other?” asked Kate.  “You mean actually managed to spend more than half an hour together without resorting to physical violence?”

“I guess that means the answer’s no,” said Tony sadly.

“Not necessarily,” said Kate softly, “I don’t know.  I did like you, Tony.  Maybe too much.”

“You mean all those putdowns and aggression was you hiding that you _liked_ me?” said Tony.

“Oh no,” said Kate, “99.9% of it was because you annoyed the hell out of me.  But there was a teeny tiny little bit of me that liked you.”

“Good to know,” said Tony, “I think.”

“Why am I here, Tony?” asked Kate.

“Because you’re dead,” said Tony, “Ari killed you.”

“I know that, idiot,” said Kate, “I mean, why am I here?  In this basement?”

“I don’t know.  It was you who came.”

“Only because you wanted me to come.”

“Really?  So you didn’t come because you cared?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Kate, “not exactly.  Are you scared, Tony?”

“Me, scared?” said Tony, “I’m a DiNozzo …” he trailed off, “yeah, I guess I am.  Just a little.  Not so much for me but for …”

“Tali,” finished Kate.

“I didn’t plan for her to be an orphan, Kate.  That’s why I moved and took up a safer job.”

“That worked real well,” said Kate drily.

“Yeah.  I sort of figured that out for myself,” said Tony, “but I was working a case with NCIS and … well, it didn’t go great.”

“You think?” said Kate sarcastically.

“Doesn’t matter now,” said Tony philosophically, “but I hope Tali will be OK.  Will I be able to keep an eye on her when … you know … when I’m …?”

Kate came another step closer with a more sympathetic look in her eyes.  She leaned forward as if to touch him,

“Ugh!  What’s that?” she exclaimed as she looked to see what she’d trodden in.  “You’re disgusting, DiNozzo!  I don’t know why I bothered!”

Tony winced, “Sorry, Kate.  I threw up before you came.  I’m sorry, don’t go!”

But it was too late.  Kate was striding away with a well-remembered annoyed toss of the head.

“Come back, Kate.  Don’t leave!” cried Tony.  He reached out unwarily to try and stop her but the pain was too much and he fell back unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime later Tony opened his eyes blearily and looked around the cellar.  He sighed when he saw there was no sign of Kate although he wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed _not_ to be seeing a ghost.  He tried moving slightly in case he had recovered while unconscious but a sharp pain warned him that he had been wrong and he closed his eyes as he winced.

“Anthony,” he gasped reprovingly, “don’t do that again!”

“Uh, Agent DiNozzo?” came an uncertain voice.

Tony swivelled his head until he could see the latest arrival.  “McGoo!” he said happily.

“Er, no.  It’s Agent McGee,” said Tim, “not McGoo.”

“Whatever,” said Tony dismissively. “What you looking at, McGoo?”

Tim was staring with fascinated horror at Tony’s leg.

“McGoo!” snapped Tony.  “I mean, McGee!”

“Agent DiNozzo?” said Tim.

“What?” asked Tony, “why are you calling me Agent DiNozzo?”

“I’m sorry,” said Tim, “should I have called you ‘Sir’?”

“Sir?” asked Tony in bewilderment, “what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” said Tim honestly, “but you started it.”

“Started what?”

“I don’t know.  Whatever _this_ is.”

Tony closed his eyes in exasperation.

“Are you all right, Agent DiNozzo?  I mean, Sir?” asked McGee in concern.

Tony opened his eyes and glared at Tim, “do I look all right?”

“Uh, no, Sir.  No, not really.  I think you’ve got an open fracture of your leg.  That’s sometimes called a compound fracture.  It’s where the bone is …”

“I know what the bone is doing, thank you very much,” said Tony coldly.

“I recently completed my emergency first aid course,” said Tim earnestly, “but I don’t think it qualifies me to treat … that.”  Tim grimaced.  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the pool of vomit near where Tony lay.

“Puke,” said Tony succinctly.

“Eww,” said McGee.  He reached into his pocket and drew out a face mask which he put on.

Tony stared at him in bewilderment and then something clicked into place for him.

“You’re chubby,” he said.

“What?” said Tim in an offended tone.

“And you’re wearing a tie,” continued Tony.

“I’m dressed according to the NCIS dress code,” said Tim.

“This is you when we first met,” said Tony wonderingly.  “Do you remember Kate?”  Tim nodded nervously.  “She was here before you.”

“Agent Todd is here?” asked McGee looking around him as if he expected Kate to appear at any minute.

“She’s gone,” said Tony.  “Besides, she’s dead.  She wasn’t really here.”

“Is this a haunted cellar?” asked McGee.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” asked Tony.

“I think there are phenomena which science can’t always explain,” hedged Tim.

“No wonder you hit it off with Abby,” said Tony.  “Hey!  Word of advice.  Bone up on crop circles.  She’ll love that that.”

“She will?” said McGee hopefully.

“Oh, yeah.  The weird and wonderful is the way to Abby’s heart.”

“Uh, Sir.  I mean, Agent DiNozzo … Tony … is anyone else in your team here?  You know …”

“Agent Gibbs, you mean?” said Tony.  Tim nodded anxiously.  “Relax, McNotyetprobie.  He hasn’t shown yet.”

Tim seemed to relax but then recalled the urgency of the situation.  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, Sir … Tony.”

“Sir Tony,” mused Tony dreamily, “I could get used to that.  What makes you think Gibbs will show up, McSquireprobie?”

“McSquireprobie?” queried Tim.

“Sure.  If I’m Sir Tony, then I need a squire.  You’re it.”

“Oh.”

“So, why do you think Agent Boss will be here soon?” pursued Tony.

“He’s a Marine, isn’t he?  He didn’t strike me as the sort to leave a man behind.”

“Good observation skills,” approved Tony, “although I’m not his man anymore.”

“Does he know that?” probed Tim.

Tony shrugged carefully.  “Answer me a question, McGee.”

“OK,” said Tim cautiously.  In this incarnation he had barely known Tony for a day but he had already learned to be wary.

“Do you think that NCIS teams have a finite number of neckties that can be worn?”

“What?”

“And a weight quota that has to be met?”

“I don’t understand,” said McGee.

“It’s just that in the years to come, you’ll stop wearing ties and I’ll start wearing them.  I wondered if there’s some time space continuum law that says if one person stops wearing neckties another has to start.”

“I’ve never heard of one,” said Tim honestly.

“Huh,” said Tony discontentedly, “so nothing in Star Trek like that?”

“No,” said Tim positively, “they don’t go in for neckties much in the 25th century.”

“Good point,” said Tony, “do you think that means there are whole planets where people are condemned to wear neckties because the Federation stopped?”

Tim recovered well.  “I guess if your theory is right, then there must be.”

“Hmm,” said Tony thoughtfully, “could be a great business opportunity there.  I mean, you could buy redundant neckties on earth and transport them to the planets that need them.”

“Are you delirious, Tony?” asked Tim.

Tony ran a hand over his forehead, “Possibly,” he admitted, “but my brain often does this … sort of thing.  What about weight?”

“What about weight?” asked McGee.

“Like I said, you’re chubby.”

“I have a slow metabolism,” said Tim with dignity.

“But again, in the years to come, you’ll lose a lot of weight.”

“I will?” said Tim happily.

“Oh yeah.  You’ll become McSkinny.  And I …”

“You’ll what?”

“I won’t be the lean, rangy athlete you met at Norfolk.”

“You won’t?” said Tim sympathetically.

“No,” said Tony bitterly.  “My metabolism will slow down.  Hey!”

“Hey what?” asked Tim.

“It seems too much of a coincidence.”

“What does?”

“That my metabolism slows down while yours seems to increase.  Did you do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.  Something sciencey?  Something MIT-ey?”

“I honestly don’t know,” said Tim.

“it’s either that or there is a time space continuum law about weight.  You know, the team has to weigh a certain amount.  You losing a ton of weight meant I had to take up the slack.”

“Why would _you_ take up the slack?” asked Tim.

Tony laughed, “you met Agent Todd.  Can you really see her taking more pounds on board?  No, it would be me.  Taking the fall for the team.  As per usual.”

“Er … you should look into that, Sir.  Perhaps the calculation could be changed.  You know, so that you don’t have to take on the extra … burden.”

“I guess,” said Tony pensively.

“What are you doing here, Tony?” asked McGee.

“Talking to you,” said Tony.  “And, no offence, but you choose some very odd things to talk about, McChatterbox.”

McGee ignored the injustice of this statement, “No, I meant what are you doing down here?”

“Laying on the floor,” said Tony.

“I can see that,” said Tim, “but why?”

“That’s a very existential question,” said Tony.

“It is?” said Tim doubtfully.

“I’m not sure,” confessed Tony, “I didn’t pay much attention in Philosophy 101.  But it sounds good.  I meant that the reason I’m on the floor is a very deep question.”

“It is?” repeated Tim.

“Oh, yes,” said Tony, “it’s all to do with the nature of evil in our world.”

“It is?”

“Yes.  If there was no evil in the world I wouldn’t be where you now see that I am.”

“You wouldn’t?” said Tim by way of variation.

“I wouldn’t,” affirmed Tony.

“How so?”

“Because the evil scum wouldn’t have thrown me down the steps to get me out of the way,” said Tony sadly.

“Why did they do that?” asked Tim.

“I just told you.  To get me out of the way.”

“Why did they want you out of the way?”

“Because I stumbled on their master plan.  And they thought nobody would come looking for me in the cellar of an abandoned building miles from the nearest house.”

“And were they right?” asked Tim.

“It’s worked out well for them so far,” conceded Tony.  “’Cos, so far my only visitors have been a ghost and a … well, I’m not sure what to call you.  The ghost of NCIS past?”

“NCIS past?” asked Tim.

“You know.  Like ‘A Christmas Carol’.”

“By Charles Dickens?” said Tim.

“Oh … I suppose so.  I was thinking more of the 1951 movie with Alastair Sim as Scrooge.”

“I liked the ‘Muppet Christmas Carol’ movie,” offered Tim trying to enter the spirit of things.

“Michael Caine was good,” acknowledged Tony, “what is it with British actors that they always play the baddies?”

This seemed to be beyond McGee’s movie knowledge and he didn’t answer directly.  “You need help,” he said instead.

“I’ve always been like this,” said Tony airily, “or for a long time anyway.  Movies are my escape.”

“I didn’t mean about the movies,” said Tim, “although there is a case for saying that you are obsessive.  No, I mean, you need help getting out of here.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “oh yeah, that would be good.”

“Have you got your cell with you?” suggested Tim.

Tony seemed to think about that before finally answering, “No.  Have you got yours?”

“I’m the reincarnation of NCIS past,” McGee pointed out, “I don’t think my phone plan covers that sort of distance.”

“Couldn’t you do something McGeeky?” asked Tony hopefully.

“I’ll see,” said McGee.

Tony gazed at him and noticed that he seemed to be shrinking.  His face mask disappeared followed by his necktie.  His waist contracted and his hair got shorter.  Just as he looked like current day Tim, however, he faded away completely.

“Told you not to overdo the diet,” muttered Tony as he closed his eyes tiredly.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be in the minority but I never really cared for Paula. If you were a fan you might want to skip this chapter.

 “I had to see this for myself!”

Tony forced his eyes open as he heard another familiar voice.

“Paula?”

“You don’t look as … put together … as usual, DiNozzo,” said Paula Cassidy.  “Your standards are slipping.  Is that what comes of not being a federal agent?”

“It’s what _comes_ of being thrown down a flight of concrete steps,” said Tony.  “And what about you?  You’re looking pretty good for someone who was blown to smithereens.”

“The afterlife has its compensations,” admitted Paula.

“Good to see you, Cassidy,” said Tony in a softer voice.

“Yeah, same here,” said Paula.

“Same old, same old,” said Tony.

“What?” asked Paula.

“You know.  Bringing out the worst in each other.”

“I was just trying to stop you falling into a pit of despair,” protested Paula.

“As I lie on the floor beaten and broken with no hope of escape?” asked Tony.

“Pretty much,” said Paula.

“Ah.  Well, thanks for the thought.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So what was your excuse?  All the other times?” asked Tony.

“What?  What do you mean?”

“You know.  This is what you always did.  Always on the offensive.  It can’t _always_ have been because you wanted to make me angry enough to stop thinking about my ‘pit of despair’.”

“You think working for Gibbs wasn’t a pit of despair?” queried Paula.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Cassidy?”

“I don’t know how you did it,” protested Paula.  “The man’s a monster.”

“You get used to it,” said Tony.

“I never did,” said Paula.  “The man hated me.”

“You got off on the wrong foot with him,” said Tony placatingly.

“You _think_?”

“Personally I think it was because he was in a bad mood when we landed in Gitmo.  If we’d arrived on a cargo plane instead of that Lear jet he’d have been happy … but as it was …”

“Of course,” said Paula with a reminiscent smile, “if you’d come on a cargo plane you might have been too tired to dance with me.”

“There is that,” said Tony, “and we danced well together, didn’t we?”

“You had some good moves,” agreed Paula.  “Even if it was work rather than pleasure.”

“It’s been …”

“… a lifetime,” said Paula.

“So it’s time for you to forgive me, Paula,” said Tony.

“I always forgave you, Tony.”

“We were good together,” said Tony, “not just the dancing.”

“Tony, we were _good together_ for about one hour in every twenty-four.  The rest of the time we were just … we could never be serious.”

“The timing was never right.  Work got in the way,” said Tony.

“We’d have made it work if it had been meant to be.  If we’d felt deeply enough about it.”

“How do you know I didn’t feel deeply?” asked Tony.

Paula stared at him for a few moments before shrugging, “it’s too late now.  And I’m almost glad it didn’t happen.  I wouldn’t have wanted to leave you behind to mourn me.”

“You think I didn’t mourn you, Paula?”

“I know you did, Tony.”

Tony stirred uneasily, “you haven’t been spying on me, have you?”

“What?  I’ve got better things to do than spy on you, DiNozzo!”

“ _Really?_ What sort of thing?  I mean, what could be more interesting than watching moi?”

“DiNozzo!”

“Hey!  Injured man here.  I thought you were trying to lift me from my pit of despair?”

Paula leaned over him with a look of compassion in her eyes.

“How you doing, Tony?”

“Well.  I have a badly broken leg.  Possibly a cracked rib or two.  And I’m hot.”

“You always did have delusions,” said Paula.

“What?”

“Thinking you were hot.  That you were God’s gift to womankind.”

“I am,” protested Tony.  “Possibly not as much as when I was in my prime but I get my share of offers at Tali’s playgroup.”

“Lots of fathers at the playgroup, are there?” said Paula slyly.

Tony spluttered, “from the Moms,” he protested.

“I heard about Tali,” said Paula.  “So, you’re a Dad.”

“Yeah.  I know, hard to imagine.”

“No,” said Paula, “it’s not hard to imagine.  I bet you’re a great Dad.  Tali’s a lucky girl.”

“Not when I die here.  In my _pit of despair_.  Although there’ll be people to look after her.  She’ll be OK.”

“I’m sure,” said Paula.  “You said you’re hot?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t mean sexy?”

“Not entirely,” admitted Tony, “but if you want to take it that way …” he managed a half-hearted waggle of his eyebrows.

“I know,” said Paula.  “I think you might be getting an infection.  There’s some blood … and it’s not very clean down here.  How long have you been here?”

“Don’t know,” he looked unsuccessfully for his watch.  “What time is it now?”

“You think … people … like me need to know what the time is?” said Paula.

“Good point.  They grabbed me mid-morning.  Is it still light outside?”

“I think it’s early afternoon,” said Paula.

“Is that all?” said Tony suppressing a groan, “it feels longer.”

“Time is odd,” said Paula.

“You think this is the time for a philosophical discussion about _time_?” asked Tony. “’Cos I already told McBrainiac that philosophy’s not my strong suit even when I’m firing on all cylinders.”

“I was just thinking that our timing was always off,” mused Paula.

“Go on,” said Tony.

“When we met the last time.  I wasn’t dating anyone.”

“Which was unusual,” observed Tony a little cattily.

“Pot.  Kettle.  Black,” replied Paula.

“Touché,” said Tony tiredly.

“I wasn’t seeing anyone.  I’d been back in DC a couple months and I’d been thinking of looking you up.  Just never got round to it.  And then you told me you were dating someone.  And in love.”

“So?”

“So, who knows?  If you hadn’t been ‘in love’ I might have made my move.  If we’d been together when I lost my team, I might not have felt so alone.  So desperate.  I might not have done what I did.  Who knows?”

“It’s my fault you died?” asked Tony incredulously.

“Not necessarily,” said Paula defensively.

“But somehow you think that because I wasn’t instantly available when you finally got round to thinking that _perhaps_ I was worth bothering with … that I’m to blame?”

“Being dead means you have time to think about what might have been,” said Paula.

“And it’s good to know that somehow you think that if I’d been ‘available’, I’d have been the kind of guy to come on to someone who had just gone through a traumatic and tragic experience and who wasn’t thinking clearly!”

“That’s not what I meant,” protested Paula.

“Well, you’ve given me something else to think about,” said Tony bitterly, “as I lie here in my _pit of_ _despair_.  Not only do you blame me for you being dead but you also think I’m a self-centred bastard.  Seems to me you had a lucky escape!”

“Tony!  I’m sorry.  It sounded better in my head.  I didn’t blame you.  I was thinking out loud.  You know.  Don’t be mad.  And I guess I saw how you were when you were in love.  It made me regret what we’d let go.”

“OK,” said Tony, “we’ll put it down to our basic incompatibility.  That we always got it wrong.  Bye, Paula.”

“You want me to go?”

“Oh, I really, really want you to go.”

“Oh.”

“Good of you to drop by.  It’s been a blast.  Oops, was that insensitive?  Sorry.”

“I’ll go then,” said Paula, “See you around.”

Tony groaned as he realised _where_ he was likely to see her if he didn’t manage to get out of the cellar.  And he realised that some things never changed.  Once again Paula had managed to make him feel guilty and in the wrong.  He closed his eyes in despair.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you are disappointed that the story hasn’t got lots of action and a twisty plot … I’m afraid that it’s mostly about what’s going on inside Tony’s brain and how he feels in his tricky situation. I thought I’d better warn you in case you’re only putting up with the story in the hope of something more dramatic happening.

 “DiNozzo!”

Tony’s eyes snapped open instinctively.

“Boss?  I mean, Gibbs?”

“Lying down on the job, are you, DiNozzo?”

“Now’s not the time for you to exercise that humour muscle, Gibbs,” said Tony wearily.  “Although you never had a great sense of comic timing.”

“Guess that’s why I went into the Marine Corps instead of comedy,” said Gibbs with a shrug.

“Why are you here?” asked Tony.

“Checking up on you,” said Gibbs.

“I don’t work for you anymore,” said Tony, “I’m not your concern.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Gibbs, “you know better than that.”

“Better than what?” asked Tony.  “You don’t do touchy feely.  Or at least, not with me.”

Gibbs leaned over Tony, apparently not deterred by the pool of vomit.  “You don’t like it when I’m nice.”

“Jeez,” sighed Tony, “I said that _once_.  Under very trying circumstances, I might say.  And you hold it against me for all time.”

“You mean that you _wanted_ me to be nice?” asked Gibbs.

“I wouldn’t have minded finding out what it was like,” admitted Tony.

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “But you don’t trust ‘nice’.”

“What you mean?”

“You don’t like to admit weakness,” said Gibbs, “you’ve always got to be strong, invincible.”

“As a previous visitor said, _pot, kettle, black_ ,” said Tony.

“I guess,” agreed Gibbs, “probably why I hired you.”

“You mean it wasn’t my superior detecting skills and finely honed abilities?”

Gibbs shrugged.

“At least tell me it wasn’t my tube socks.”

“It wasn’t your tube socks,” said Gibbs obligingly.

“That’s something,” said Tony.

“Ducky said you and me were alike,” said Gibbs.  “Took me a while to realise he was right.”

“I’ve never had a bad haircut,” protested Tony.

“What about that photo of when you were a kid?” asked Gibbs.

“I’ll have you know that was fashionable.  Very on-trend in the day.  And what you do before you’re twenty doesn’t count.  And, continued Tony, “I’ve always had dress sense,”.

“Abby thinks I’ve got style,” countered Gibbs.

“Abby is biased,” said Tony.  “And she’d see the good in anyone.”

“I guess.  But Ducky wasn’t talking about style or fashion sense,” continued Gibbs, “he meant something else.”

“And I don’t like bourbon,” said Tony.

Gibbs ignored this.  “He meant determination and bloody-mindedness.  A refusal to let go.  And you’ve got that in bucket loads.”

“Not going to help today,” grimaced Tony.

“What happened?” asked Gibbs.

“Brotherton and his goons happened.  I had an idea.  Went to talk to Liddle at the bistro in Wilmington but the timing was wrong.  Brotherton came in while I was there.”

“You should have told me where you were going,” said Gibbs.

“It was just a line of enquiry,” said Tony, “I thought I was eliminating something.  Turned out I was the one being eliminated.”

“It’s not over, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs.

“Who you kidding?” said Tony.  “Whatever you may think, I’ve always been ready to face reality.  And I know what my reality is.”

“It’s not over,” repeated Gibbs.

“I’m not you,” said Tony.  “Never was.”

“What?”

“You see that pile of puke?”

“Hard to miss,” said Gibbs drily.

“When I woke up after my flying trip down the stairs, I tried to get up.  Tried to move.  That’s when I threw up.”

“Understandable,” said Gibbs.

“Yeah, sure. If it was you laying here, you’d have done some sort of marine first aid and hopped up the stairs without breaking sweat.”

“Tony …”

“Or the Probie.  He’d have rigged up some sort of communication device and called for help.”

“There’s nothing down here, Tony,” said Gibbs.  “Nothing to use to help.”

“So I’m done for,” said Tony.

“Where’s your cell, Tony?  And your watch?” asked Gibbs.

“Don’t remember,” said Tony listlessly.  He looked at Gibbs.  “What, no head slap?”

“Not today,” said Gibbs gently.  “Not today.”

“Now I know I’m dying,” said Tony.

“See,” said Gibbs, “you don’t like it when I’m nice.”

“Makes the foundations of my world rock,” said Tony.  “Is that really why you weren’t nice to me?”

“What?”

“Because you thought I didn’t need it?  That I was self-sufficient?”

“You don’t let people in, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs.  “For someone who never stopped talking you don’t say a whole lot.”

“Guess Ducky was right after all,” said Tony, “we are alike.  Although _you_ don’t say a whole lot by, well, not saying a lot.”

“Brothers under the skin,” said Gibbs.

“I like the sound of that,” said Tony.  “But you hid it well.”

“That’s who I am,” said Gibbs.  “What’s on the surface doesn’t count much for me.  It’s what’s underneath that matters.  And I knew what was under your surface.”

“I’m thirsty,” said Tony.

“Not a good idea for you to have anything to drink.  Even if you could,” said Gibbs, “don’t know what’s going on inside there,” he pointed to Tony’s body.

“Thought you said you knew what was under my surface,” joked Tony.

“You know what I mean,” said Gibbs.

“Not always,” said Tony.

“Tony?”

“I couldn’t always tell.  There was a time when I thought I understood you but you sort of slipped away.”

“I was always there, Tony,” said Gibbs.  “You know that.”

“No, I don’t,” said Tony.  “I sometimes think not all of you came back from Mexico.  You were sort of … wary of us.”

“Nothing changed,” said Gibbs dismissively.

“With respect, Boss, it did.  Was it because you felt exposed?  We found out something about you that you’d kept hidden.  Did you feel embarrassed?”

“Embarrassed that I’d had a wife and daughter?  What you talking about, DiNozzo?”

“See,” sighed Tony, “it’s back to DiNozzo.  As soon as you think I’m getting too close you put up barriers.  No, I didn’t think you should be embarrassed about having been married more times than you’d let on.  I sometimes wondered if you felt guilty that you’d lost them.  That it was your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Gibbs, “I’ve come to terms with that.”

Tony laughed half-heartedly.  “Yeah, sure.  I’d like to see what you’re like when you _haven’t_ come to terms with something!  I don’t mean you _should_ feel guilty or responsible but somehow it doesn’t go with your invincible aura.  The all-conquering mystique.”

“I’m not invincible, Tony.  I bleed like anyone else.”

“You say the words,” said Tony, “but you don’t believe them.  Not really.”

“You’re wrong,” said Gibbs.

“OK,” shrugged Tony, “but something changed when you came back.”

“Maybe it was you who changed,” said Gibbs.  “You found out you could do my job.  And you liked it.”

“And that’s a problem?  Sure I’d got used to it but I didn’t complain about stepping back.  Although I nearly knocked that stupid moustache off your face when you dumped my stuff back on my desk.”

“I was in a hurry,” said Gibbs, “I didn’t have time to sort through all your trash.”

“Whatever,” said Tony.  “I’m sure it made sense to you but it was the first sign that I didn’t know what was going on in that head of yours anymore.”

“If you were the great investigator you say you are, you’d have known,” said Gibbs.

“Wow,” said Tony, “you’ve really sworn off the ‘nice’ now, haven’t you?”

“You started it,” said Gibbs, “I just came to see how you’re doing.  You wanted to go deep.”

“What’s with people thinking I want some deep philosophical discussion?” complained Tony, “I just want the pain to stop.”

“OK,” said Gibbs.

“That’s all I ever wanted,” said Tony softly.  He looked at Gibbs and saw uncertainty in his expression.  “Tell me, Gibbs,” he went on, “when Ziva asked you to choose.  You remember, on the tarmac in Israel …”

“I chose you, Tony,”

“I know.  But was that because you actually wanted me or because it was a challenge to your authority as team leader?  If you’d said _yes_ to Ziva it would have meant you were giving way to her?”

“Tony …”

“I’ve always wondered.  If she’d chosen a different moment, when it was less of a confrontation.  Would you have found a way to do what she wanted?”

“This is your conversation, not mine, DiNozzo,” said Gibbs.

“I am a great investigator,” said Tony, “and this is one time I think I do know what you were thinking.  Thanks for stopping by.  Don’t worry.   I’m fine.”

Tony’s eyes slid shut.  When he opened them again he was alone in the cellar.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Tony opened his eyes to a cellar which was once again empty.  A wave of desolation and loneliness washed over him and he screwed his eyes shut lest tears escape.

“I was looking for you, Junior.”

“Dad?”

“We’re supposed to be going fishing.”

“We are?”  Tony looked at his father and was surprised to see that he was wearing a multi pocketed fishing vest and a ball cap and was holding a fishing rod.

“Sure.  But you’re late.”

“Whereas you’re always on time.  Always reliable,” said Tony bitterly.

“No need to adopt that tone, Junior,” said Senior sternly.  “I taught you better than that.”

“When?”

“What do you mean, when?”

“When did you teach me anything?  Apart from how to pour your Scotch?”

“It’s a useful life skill,” said Senior with a smirk.

“For a 10-year-old?” queried Tony.

“Never too young to start,” said Senior.  “I’ve concluded a lot of business deals over a glass of Scotch.”

“I didn’t do many business deals when I was 10,” said Tony, “and certainly not over whisky.”

“You’ve always got to argue, haven’t you?” said Senior, “always got to have a clever comeback.”

“It was one way of getting you to talk to me,” said Tony, “getting you to notice me.  Until you sent me off to school.”

“It was the best thing,” said Senior.

“Who for?”

“Junior …” said Senior in a long suffering voice, “do we have to go through all this again?”

“When did we go through it the first time?”

“You did well at that military school,” said Senior.

“It was my _seventh_ boarding school, Dad.”

“You were a difficult kid,” said Senior.

“And that was my fault?” asked Tony.

“It’s water under the bridge,” said Senior, “what does it matter now?  I’ve never been in the blame game.”

“You’ve never been in the _responsibility_ game,” said Tony.

Tony’s father sighed, “Look, I came here to try and do a nice thing for you.  Why don’t you let me do that?  There’s no point in keep looking back.”

“OK, Dad,” said Tony, “we’ll do it your way … _as usual._   What was it you wanted to do?”

“Thought you were an investigator,” said Senior jovially as he waved the fishing rod.

“You meant it?  You want us to go _fishing_?”

“Sure.  I’ve got happy memories of that day we went fishing.  Thought you did too.”

“Dad, why do you think I’m on the floor?”

“What?  I didn’t think about it.  Although it’s not doing that jacket of yours any good to be rolling round in the dust.”

Tony averted his eyes from his father as he tried to think of a response.  He spotted something moving along the ceiling.

“What you looking at, Junior?” said Senior, “it’s not polite to ignore people, you know.”

“Sorry, Dad.  I think it’s a bee.”

“A what?”

“A bee.  It might even be a Tri-coloured Bumble Bee … there are some near my cabin.”

“What you talking about, Junior?”

“There’s a bee in here.  It must have flown in when Brotherton’s goons ‘escorted’ me in here.”

“Whatever,” said Senior, “now, are you coming fishing or not?”

“Dad!  I’ve got a broken leg.  I can’t come fishing with you.  I can’t go anywhere with you.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” said Senior.

“I thought you might have noticed,” said Tony.  “Most fathers would notice if their sons were on the floor with a leg bone not where it should be.”

“I was being tactful,” said Senior.

“What?”

“I know tact’s a foreign concept to you,” said Senior, “but I didn’t want to draw attention to the possibility that you’re drunk and incapable in the middle of the day.”

“You thought that your prediction had come true?” asked Tony.

“What prediction?”

“That I’d end up in the gutter?”

“I only said that to try and jolt you out of being a pain in the neck,” protested Senior.  “I always knew you’d be all right.”

“No thanks to you,” said Tony.

“Independence is good for young people,” said Senior, “and it didn’t do you any harm.”

Tony didn’t know where to start a response to that statement so decided on a different tack.  “You know I was surprised to see you here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s not like you to turn up when I’m in trouble.”

“You haven’t needed me in years, Junior.”

“Not true, Dad.  I haven’t _expected_ you in years: there’s a difference.  I’ve learned not to need you.  It was easier than always being disappointed.”

“You’re a grown man, Junior,” said Senior.

“Although in a way I wasn’t surprised to see you here,” mused Tony.  “I was feeling lonely and abandoned and that’s a familiar feeling where you’re concerned.”

“What you talking about now?”

“Hawaii.  When you left me behind for two days.  And I was 12.”

“Junior ... this is old news.”

“Sure.  But whenever I feel abandoned it’s the memory that comes up.”

“What you want me to do about it now?” asked Senior in exasperation.  “I can’t fix that.”

“True,” acknowledged Tony, “but you could act as if it would be impossible for you to do anything like that again.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“To take me fishing.  When my leg’s broken.  And when I’m not a child anymore.”

“I never noticed before,” said Senior, “but you’re a glass half-empty sort of person.  Must come from hanging out with Gibbs.”

“You think it’s because of Gibbs?”

“Doesn’t come from me.  I’m a glass half-full person.”

“Yeah, I guess you are, Dad,” said Tony with a rueful chuckle.

“That’s better,” said Senior.  “Hey, where’s your watch?”

“So you notice my watch is gone but not that I’ve got a broken leg?”

“It was a nice watch,” said Senior defensively.

“And my leg isn’t?”

“That’s typical, isn’t it?  You have to twist everything I say.  And you can’t deny you don’t like nice things.  You’re a DiNozzo.”

“No denying that,” said Tony in a tone which suggested a measure of regret.

“So, where’s the watch?”

Tony looked at his bare wrist and said in a puzzled voice, “Can’t remember.  Must have lost it.  I don’t remember Brotherton taking it.  Perhaps it slipped off?”

This seemed to convince Mr DiNozzo that something was wrong, “Are you all right, Son?” he said in a concerned voice.

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.  Thanks for coming.”

“You want me to go?”

“I could do with some sleep,” said Tony.

“We’ll go fishing when you’re feeling better,” said Senior.

“That’ll be good,” said Tony.

“I’ll go then,” said Senior a little uncertainly.

“OK,” said Tony.

“Love you, Anthony.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Tony looked up.  He smiled when he saw the bee still flying along the ceiling.  In the new silence he could hear it buzzing and he took comfort from the presence of another living creature with him.  He just hoped it wouldn’t sting him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Anthony!  What _are_ you doing?”

“Ducky … nice of you to turn up,” said Tony.

“I repeat,” said Ducky, “what are you doing?”

Tony gasped as he propped himself up on his elbows, “time to get out of here, Ducky.”

“You are in no condition to ‘get out of here’,” said Ducky sternly, “so lie back down again.  This minute!”

Tony made a show of reluctance as he returned to his supine position on the floor but, in truth, he was glad to lower himself down.  He had returned to consciousness and decided that he must make an effort to get out of the cellar but had soon realised that his injuries made it impossible.

“Thanks, Ducky,” he said.

“And for what are you thanking me, Anthony?”

“Being tactful.”

“I pride myself on always being tactful,” said the doctor, “but for which particular act of tactfulness are you praising me for?”

“Not turning up in your autopsy gear,” said Tony, “I’m not dead yet.”

“Indeed not,” said Ducky.

“So, what’s the diagnosis?” asked Tony.

“I don’t have my medical equipment with me,” hedged Ducky, “so I cannot give a definitive report.”

“I won’t sue,” said Tony.

“Your leg is broken,” said Ducky as he peered at Tony, “from the way your breathing is laboured I would surmise that you may have damaged some ribs.  And from the fact that you are perspiring despite there being a chill in the air down here I would speculate that you are running a fever.  But, as I used to say to Jethro …”

“A full report will have to await the autopsy,” said Tony.

“That is not what I was going to say,” said Ducky severely.  “I concur with what you said.  Even if you are not medically trained.”

“What?” asked Tony, “what did I say?”

“You pointed out that you are not dead.  And you are right.”

“Good to know,” said Tony.  “But I’m not afraid, Ducky.”

“I have rarely seen you afraid, Anthony,” said Ducky.

“When _have_ you seen me afraid?”

“When you found out that you’re a father.”

“Special circumstances,” said Tony, “can’t train for that one.  Or at least you can.  If you get the normal nine months’ notice.”

“Indeed.”

“So when else did you see me afraid?”

“The first time you spilled Jethro’s coffee,” remembered Ducky.

“I defy anyone not to be afraid after that,” said Tony.

“And it did serve a purpose,” said Ducky.

“Ducky?”

“It diverted Jethro’s attention from terrifying the new intern from HR.  Now I come to think of it, was that your intention, Anthony?”

“A dying man shouldn’t have any secrets,” said Tony.  “Yeah.  But in my defence I had young Charlotte in the office pool to last an extra day.  I was just protecting my investment.”

“If you say so,” said Ducky with a smile.

“And,” winced Tony, “if I’d known what Gibbs’ reaction was going to be I’d have left her to the bear!”

“Now _that_ I find easier to believe,” said Ducky.

“But I’m not afraid to die,” said Tony, “and not because working with Gibbs was scarier than anything else could be!”

“Of course not,” said Ducky soothingly.

“I’ve faced death too often not to have come to terms with it,” continued Tony.

“I know.  Abby is always on tenterhooks when agents are out of the building lest they do not return.  By the by, would you be interested in knowing the etymology of the word _tenterhooks_?  Hmm, perhaps not.  Some other time perhaps?”

“Sure,” said Tony.  “So I’m not afraid to die but this is the first time I’ve been _sad_ to die.”

“And why is that, dear boy?”

“Because there’s someone to miss me now.”

“Tali?”

“Yeah.  And I would have liked to see how she grew up.  Although, given some of the visitors I’ve had since I’ve been down here … perhaps I’ll get a chance to watch over her?”

“Visitors, Anthony?”

“Kate and Paula showed up.”

“They did?”

“Yep.  And Kate said she’d been spying on me.”

“Caitlin said that?” said Ducky in surprise.

“That’s what she said.  I think she looks on it as karma.  You know, revenge for all the snooping … investigation I did on her.”

“That seems rather uncharacteristic,” said Ducky.

“What?”

“Caitlin always seemed to have rather rigorous principles about proper behaviour,” said Ducky, “it seems rather odd that she should have abandoned them in her new incarnation.”

“Perhaps the afterlife is different to what we think,” suggested Tony.

“You may be right,” said Ducky, “although I will confess it is not a subject to which my thoughts often turn.”

“I’d have thought someone in your line of work would think about it a lot,” said Tony.

“Working with the dead?”

“Yeah.”

“I think, in fact, that I am so aware of the inevitability of death that I have come to consider it futile to consider what happens afterwards.  I suppose, in my younger days, it did exercise me more but now it has receded to the back of my mind.  Some people say that death is an adventure.  And I have always been ready for adventure.”

“I like the sound of that,” said Tony, “death as an adventure.”

“One which you are not yet ready for, young man,” said Ducky quickly.

“You’re the only person who calls me _young man_ ,” smiled Tony.

“The privilege of advanced age,” said Ducky.

“You probably have seen me scared,” said Tony.  “I mean, apart from when Tali turned up and when I spilled Gibbs’ coffee.”

“Indeed? When was that?”

“The first time I met you.  In autopsy.  You were talking to a dead body.  I wondered what I’d walked in to.  You do know that talking to cadavers is seriously creepy, don’t you?”

“I consider _not_ talking to them to be the height of bad manners,” said Ducky calmly, “and you know how I abhor discourtesy.”

“ _Manners maketh man_ ,” Tony quoted.

“My word,” said Ducky, “you never cease to amaze me, Anthony.  Where did you learn that?”

“Great Uncle Clive.  He went to Winchester College.  It was their motto.”

“A very fine English public school,” said Ducky, “Their list of alumni is remarkable.”

“Is there anything you don’t know, Ducky?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Ducky, “but, nonetheless, I am always happy to give an opinion!”

“You’re the man, Ducky.  One of a kind.  It’s been good knowing you.”

“And I trust it will continue to be, Anthony.  I don’t want you giving up.”

“Ducky, that bee can’t get out of here …”

“Which bee?”

“The one that’s flying up on the ceiling.”

“Ah yes.  A Tri-coloured Bumble Bee, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It can’t get out of here and _it’s_ fit and healthy.  How am I going to get out?  With a broken wing … I mean, leg.”

“Anthony, why did you not call for help?  You are never parted from your phone.”

“Don’t know where it is, Ducky.”

“Think, Anthony.  It is important that you remember.”

“Too tired, Ducky.  And it doesn’t matter now,” his eyes slid shut.

“Anthony!”

Tony opened his eyes again, “I’ll give your Mom a message from you.  Hope she doesn’t want the Italian gigolo to move any commodes for her … might be a while before I can manage that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, I think.


	7. Chapter 7

_“You’re a mess!”_

_“You need help.”_

_“You’ve haven’t needed me in years.”_

_“You’re slipping!”_

_“Why are you lying down on the job?”_

_“You’re disgusting!”_

_“You’re a pig!”_

_“You’re wrong!”_

The words of his visitors resounded in Tony’s ears and he closed his eyes against their faces which were swimming in and out of sight.  Sometimes it seemed they were leaning over him and laughing or frowning.  Other times they huddled together and muttered.

“Go away!” mumbled Tony, “go away!  Leave me alone …”

“Anthony,” came Ducky’s voice.  “Calm down.  You will hurt yourself.”

Tony managed a laugh at that, “Somebody’s already taken care of that, Ducky.  _Everyone’s_ taken care of that!  It’s all they do.  I’m tired of it all.  I’m tired of them.  Make them go away.”

“Make who go away?” asked Ducky.

“Everyone.  Them.  You.”

“I’m trying to help,” said Ducky.

“I told you to go,” said Tony, “I don’t want your pity.  I don’t want _you_!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Ducky firmly.  “I will not leave you on your own.”

“Then I’ll go,” insisted Tony as he tried once more to raise himself up.

“DiNozzo!” came a commanding voice.

Tony instinctively stilled as he recognised Gibbs’ voice.  He heard the crack of Gibbs’ knee as he knelt beside him.

“Watch out for the puke,” he warned, thinking that the aftermath of Gibbs kneeling in his vomit might be even more catastrophic than the one which followed his coffee being spilled.

Gibbs gave one of his characteristic half-smiles, “I’ll be careful,” he promised.             

Tony stared into Gibbs’ blue gaze and struggled to find words.  He opened his mouth to speak but his ears suddenly filled once more with the accusations of his visitors and he felt as if he was drowning.

“Tony!” said Gibbs sharply.

Tony’s eyes flew open as he felt a sharp tap on the top of his head.

“Tony,” said Gibbs firmly, “listen to me.  You will not die!  Understand?”

The voices fell silent.  The cellar seemed almost to be holding its breath as it waited for Tony’s reply.

“I don’t take orders from you anymore, Gibbs,” gasped Tony as he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

NCISNCIS

“Wake up, Tony,” came a woman’s gentle voice.  “Come on, open your eyes.”

There was something in the tone of voice that suggested that the request had been made more than once and it was a voice that Tony found himself wanting to obey although the darkness had been a comfortable place to retreat to.

“Mom?” he asked.  He wasn’t sure he could remember his mother’s voice but there was something about this voice that he associated with love and care.  He hoped he wasn’t wrong to link those attributes to his mom.

“No, not your Mom.  Why don’t you open your eyes?”

This seemed a sensible suggestion but it took a few seconds before Tony was able to follow through.

“Millie?” he said.

“Yes,” she smiled. 

“Are you going to moan at me too?” he asked groggily.

“No.  Why would you think that?”

“Everyone else has.  Well, except McGoo and Ducky.”

“Who else have you seen?”

“Gibbs.”

“I see.”

“And Kate.  Paula.  Oh, and my Dad showed up.”

“Tony,” said Millie, “where do you think you are?”

“The Pink House,” said Tony fixing his eyes on Millie.  Almost from the first time he had seen Millie Lacey in her café in Milsom Bay, she had been a source of comfort to him.  He realised now that perhaps she had stirred long-dormant memories of his mother.  Or, to be honest, perhaps she just embodied his picture of what an ideal mom would be like.  “In the cellar,” he continued, wanting to be accurate.

“Look again,” said Millie with that same smile in her voice.

Tony looked again.  And realised that he was no longer laying on the basement floor but was in a hospital bed in a room decorated with balloons and flowers.

“What happened?” he asked.  “How did I get out?”

“You were carried out,” said Gibbs from a chair in the corner of the room.  “Took EMTs a while to get there and then to figure out how to get you out of that cellar.”

“Oh,” said Tony.  “How did they find me?”

“Where’s your cell, Tony?” asked Gibbs.

“I didn’t call for help, did I?” asked Tony, “I’d remember that.”

“Not the question,” said Gibbs, “where’s your cell?”

“Oh,” said Tony as he finally remembered, “I dumped it.  In Brotherton’s SUV.”

“You didn’t _dump_ it,” corrected Gibbs, “you hid it.  Along with your badge and your watch.”

“I thought you’d track it,” said Tony, “they wouldn’t be able to explain away my gear being in the car.  Did it work?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?” said Gibbs.

“What happened?”

“McGee tracked the cell once you were late back to the office,” said Gibbs.

“And Brotherton crumbled,” said McGee as he came into the room, “you’d have enjoyed it.  Gibbs did.”

“Classic Gibbs?” asked Tony.

“Vintage,” agreed Tim, “one for the record.  Shortest confession time I’ve seen.”

“No time to waste,” said Gibbs modestly.

“How long?” asked Tony.

“We found you after a couple of hours,” said Tim, “but it took a while to work out how to get you out.”

“It was _interesting_ ,” said Gibbs.

A sense of horror dawned on Tony.

“What was?” he tried to bluff.

“Are you really worried about neckties in Federation space?” asked Tim.

“And what did you think that Kate would have found out about you?” asked Gibbs.

“And what _is_ your favourite movie?” asked McGee, “I’m guessing it’s something embarrassing.”

“Indeed, your hallucinations were quite illuminating,” said Ducky as he came into Tony’s room.  “Timothy was rather alarmed to begin with until he realised that you were running a fever.  And he would prefer that you don’t repeat your advice on how he could enhance his chances of dating Abby … at least not in Delilah’s hearing.”

Tony resisted an impulse to hide his head beneath the covers and tried to change the subject,

“How soon can I get out of here, Ducky?”

Ducky was the most affable of men but could, on occasion, deliver a glare worthy of Gibbs.  This was one of those occasions.

“You have had surgery to repair your leg.  Your badly injured leg.  You have two cracked ribs and are at risk of developing pneumonia.  You have a mild concussion and have been unconscious since you were brought into the hospital fifteen hours ago,” he said.

“OK,” said Tony, “so when can I leave?”

“I understand that the case is wrapped up,” said Ducky, “there is, therefore, no rush for you to leave.  Why are you in a hurry?”

“It’s _hospital,”_ said Tony as if it was obvious, “I mean, no offence, I know you like hospitals but me, I’m not so much of a fan.  When can I go?”

“Told you,” said Gibbs to Ducky.

Ducky sighed a put-upon sigh. “Possibly tomorrow.  If your temperature remains at its current level.  And you suffer no more symptoms.”

“Great,” said Tony.

“And you will need to stay off your feet for some time,” Ducky added.

“But …” began Tony.

“And you will find using crutches rather difficult until your ribs have healed,” continued Ducky.

“Where’s Tali?” asked Tony as he decided to defer discussion on his medical future.

“Mac is bringing her from Raleigh,” said Millie.  “We thought you’d be better off recuperating in the Bay than in the city.

Tony nodded at this news grateful once again that he had hired Frazer McKenzie as his nanny.

“Doctor Murray and Nurse Ratched are more than willing to provide medical care,” announced Ducky.  He obviously thought this was good news but Tony’s heart faltered a little at the thought of how diligent their care was likely to be.  The doctor and nurse ran the Milsom Bay clinic very efficiently but they were not overworked meaning they would have plenty to time to oversee Tony’s recovery.  He reminded himself, however, that Nurse Ratched did not live up to her unfortunate name and was more than happy to be called by her given name of Rosie.  He managed a weak smile,

“Good to know, Ducky,” he said.

“And I was already planning to stay for a few days,” said Ducky, “so I will be able to lend my expertise as well.”

“Great,” said Tony with an even weaker smile.

Millie stood to go, “Mac will bring Tali this evening,” she said.  “And you don’t need to worry about food for a while.  I’ll keep you all supplied.”

Tony’s smile was more genuine this time.  The prospect of being fed by Millie was a bright spot in what promised to be a long recovery.

“Anthony won’t be very active for a while, Mrs Lacey,” said Ducky, “I will offer some suggestions about diet.  He won’t want to be putting on too much weight, you know.  I will come with you and help draw up a diet sheet.  Goodbye, Anthony … and be sure to do what the medical professionals tell you.  Don’t go with your _gut_.  It is unlikely to be reliable in this instance.”

Tony watched sourly as Ducky ushered Millie out.

“I’m going to head out too,” said McGee.  “Need to watch some Star Trek episodes.  Check out your theory about neckties.”

Tony grimaced, “Sorry, Tim.  Didn’t mean to screw with your head.”

“I’m used to it,” said Tim calmly, “and I think I got off lightly.”

“What you mean?” asked Tony.

“You didn’t give me a hard time.  Not like you did your Dad and Gibbs.”

“Dad wasn’t there, was he?” asked Tony in alarm.

“No,” said Tim, “I can let him know if you want?”

“No,” said Tony hastily, “that can wait.”

“OK,” said Tim agreeably, “and hey, I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Me too,” said Tony.

He watched Tim leave the room although he didn’t seem to get far as he heard him talking to Millie and Ducky who seemed to have paused in the corridor outside.  Tony turned anxiously to Gibbs who was still sitting silently in his corner.

“Gibbs?” he asked, “did I give you a hard time?  In the cellar?”

“What?” asked Gibbs blandly.

“I seem to remember I might have got mad at you.”

“What do you remember?”

“I can’t remember what I said,” said Tony, “just feeling angry.”

Gibbs gazed at him, “the only thing you said was that you don’t take orders from me anymore.  Which you don’t.  Nothing to worry about.”

“It felt like when I had the plague,” said Tony, “when you told me not to die.”

“You didn’t need me to tell you that this time,” said Gibbs, “you sorted it out for yourself when you planted your cell.”

“You sure?” said Tony.

“You ever know me say something I didn’t mean?” asked Gibbs.

“Guess not,” said Tony.  He yawned and became aware that his eyes were becoming heavy as sleep beckoned.

“Go to sleep, Tony,” said Gibbs.

“On it, Boss,” said Tony drowsily.

Gibbs slipped out of the room quietly.  Somehow he wasn’t surprised to find Ducky waiting.

“Why did you lie to him, Jethro?”

“Duck?”

“You said that he hadn’t given you a hard time.”

“So?”

“I was there, Jethro.  I saw the expression on your face when he accused you of slipping away from him.  When he said that you only kept him on the team instead of Ziva because she made a tactical error.”

“And so you heard him say that everyone hurts him, that it’s what we do.  You heard him talking to Kate and Paula … and his Dad.  So much pain there.  I’m not going to add to it … not anymore.”

“And what are you going to do, Jethro?”

“Start being a better friend to him, I guess,” said Gibbs.

NCISNCIS

“Gibbs,” said Tony the next day as he was being driven back to his cabin.

“Hmm?” said Gibbs as he concentrated on not breaking the speed limit.

“I was thinking about when I was lying on the floor in the cellar.”

“You don’t want to risk another injury,” said Gibbs.

“Ha ha.  You know, I was pretty confused and out of it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Gibbs, “you were seeing people who weren’t there and having long conversations with them.  It was kinda interesting.”

“Yeah?” asked Tony.

“And I think you might have been on to something about McGee’s weight loss.  Perhaps he did do something to your metabolism.”

“You better watch out then,” said Tony, “now I’m not around.  He might do something to yours.  Not that you’re looking fat, of course,” he added hastily.

Gibbs took his eyes off the road long enough to deliver a glare.

“Not what I was thinking of,” said Tony deciding to change the subject.  “I remembered something.”

“What?” asked Gibbs uneasily, hoping Tony hadn’t remembered his conversation with him in too much detail.

“There was a bee,” said Tony unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” said Gibbs.

“It was sort of comforting.  Gave me something to focus on when I thought I was alone.”

Gibbs nodded.  It had been strange that Tony had seen the bee but had thought everyone else was imaginary.

“Did it get out?” Tony asked.

Gibbs remembered the annoyed yelp from the EMT and his energetic swat when the bee got too close and was relieved that he could answer honestly,

“That bee’s like you, DiNozzo.  Nine lives.  Yeah, it got out.”

 


End file.
